


The Hellchild's Vengeance

by NachtHexe



Series: Ghostly Tales [4]
Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/F, F/M, Mentions of Forced Abortion, Satan - Freeform, Unwanted Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachtHexe/pseuds/NachtHexe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To run or to succumb, that is the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamara is a captive in the Church of Ghost - will she submit to their power?

I kept my head bowed low as my leather clad feet carried me hurriedly through the dark, cold corridors. If my presence was making any sounds, they were quiet enough to be shrouded by the moans and pleasured shrieks emanating from the heavy, locked doors as I passed them. I gulped, knowing fairly soon such sounds could be coming from me.  
One day. That’s how long I’ve been there, and yet already I felt like I stepped into hell on Earth. I had many regrets in my twenty five years of life, but this was by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever done - and, by gods, the mistake was costly.

 

Just about 24 hours ago, I was making my usual walk from the woods back to the the small town I live in. However, as is often the case this time of year, the winds picked up and the heavens broke, leaving me fully exposed to the harsh elements. 

I ran to the nearest shelter I could find - a seemingly unused and long abandoned shed, once probably used for wood storage, but then completely empty.  
Little did I know, the heavy fog hid a larger, stone built chapel only but a few meters away.

I fell asleep on the dusty floor, the sound of heavy rain beating against the wooden ceiling acting like a lullaby, and awoke several hours later on a cot in an empty windowless room. The only source of light came from several candles placed all over the floor. The only furniture available was the small bed I was on. To my relief, when I threw the covers off I was met with my old, familiar t-shirt and torn jeans.

It’s been a day, yet still I was none the wiser ; I didn’t know why they wore masks, why the had me here, what the symbols meant. The only thing I knew was that they were a bloody cult of sorts.

I found that out in the most disgusting of ways : one of the silver masked ones led me down to what I assumed to be the main part of the building. The chapel, adorned with upside-down crosses, huge candles and rather gruesome works of so-called art. I joined the crowd of other masked and cloaked characters and watched the events unfold before me in horror.

The only unmasked persons in the room were up on the altar. The one whom I assumed to be the leader, dressed in long robes, his face covered in black and white paint, and a naked female lying down calmly for everyone to see. She looked younger than me, maybe 19 or so. She grinned happily as the leader lifted a dagger above her, telling us of the ‘glory of Satan’ as the crowd released incoherent noises of satisfaction.

When the speech came to an end and he was about the strike the blade down, I couldn’t control myself and released a frightened scream, turning to run for the door I came through just several minutes before. No one tried to stop me, though I knew they were all staring.

I heard the door swing open, but couldn’t stop myself in time and ran straight into the chest of whoever was coming in. I immediately wanted to rip myself away from them, but their hands embracing me gently, patting my back reassuringly, prevented me from doing so. The kind touch almost made me relax, first time since I awoke in this prison.  
“What are you all looking at? Stare not at this poor soul ; keep your eyes on your master!” A loud, female voice commanded from right above my head. The woman in who’s arms I was resting in was clearly a figure of authority, and sounded around my age.

Her order was followed by the sound of feet and clothing shifting, but still, I could feel someone’s hard gaze on my back.  
“Let me deal with this one, Emeritus.” Whatever reply she got was silent, and seconds later I heard the leader repeating the last few sentences of his speech. Thankfully, we were out of the room before the blood was spilled.

 

And so, there I was, following my savior silently through the bitter halls of this hellish building. We haven’t exchanged a single word, now have I seen her face. Instead, I studied her figure from behind. 

She was a good bit taller than me, and seemed to be the only humanely dressed person around, sporting black jeans, a leather jacket and tall boots. Her black, smooth locks reached the small of her back, and her fingers were adorned with several rings. She walked with an air of confidence I could only dream of.

After several turns left and right, we finally reached what I assumed to be her room. She opened the door and turned to let me in first. I walked in, keeping my eyes down, still not seeing her face. I did let my gaze wander around the large, lavishly decorated space, though.

The room was at least three times the size of what I awoke in. It was also filled with blackwood furniture, blood red carpet and a wall sized mirror. It was there that I saw her face. Young, just as I predicted. Her skin was ghostly white, her lips crimson, eyes vibrant and decorated with heavy mascara. Our eyes met in the mirror and I looked away, still unsure of her intentions.

“What’s your name?” she spoke from behind me, the cold commanding tone replaced with a soft kindness. I turned and looked into her green orbs, seeing no hostility in them.  
“Tamara, miss.” I answered softly. She laughed and plopped down on the king-size bed. I looked at her confused.

“Don’t call me that, please, makes me feel old. My name’s Nyx.” She stretched out her hand towards me. I shook it, both of us smiling. 

“Please, take a seat.” She gestured for a chair by the dresser. Feeling more on the safe side with her, I shook my head and declined the offer politely, saying that I’d ‘rather stay up, please’. Nyx’s face fell the slightest bit, bu she nodded.

“Okay, Tamara, I’ll be honest with you. There’s a reason I bumped into you, because I need to ask you something very important. But first, I need to tell you about myself and where you are. And I warn you, it ain’t gonna be pretty. Can you manage that?” 

She asked, her accented but smooth voice laced with near-desperation. Seeing how this seemed to be the closest to sane person here, I nodded eagerly. I wanted to know more about her and this place where I was kept against my will. She took a deep breath and began the gruesome, albeit heartbreaking tale of her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamara is asked for help by the wolf in sheepskin in the Church, but is it really worth the risk?

“The man you saw on the alter is the boss here. We call him Papa Emeritus the Third. He runs the church, tends to ‘our needs’ and manages all the 'spiritual’ stuff. He’s pretty new too, only stepped in a few months ago…”

She stopped briefly to look at me, making sure I understood. I nodded, biting my lip as she continued.

“The previous Papa was his older brother. There wasn’t much of a resemblance if you ask me, but whatever. Now that his job here is done here, he’s in some dungeon beneath our feet, probably having a better time than any of us. Okay?”

I nodded again, telling her to precede, even though I wasn’t entirely sure why she was telling me all this.

“Then we have the first Papa. He’s been gone like five years now, and wasn’t related to the two brothers. He established the church, set the rules, all that business. And, he’s the reason I am who I am…”

She trailed off, looking into the distance somewhere behind me. Her pain was very visible and honest. I moved to sit beside her on the silk covered bed.  
“And who are you?” I asked gently, almost motherly. She turned her head and looked me in the eye.

“I’m the second highest position in the church after the Papas, and solemnly because of my blood. I’m the child that wasn’t meant to be, Tamara. I’m the first Papa’s child.”  
Even though I didn’t yet understand just how mystical and important the Papas were, I felt the weight of her confession. 'The child that wasn’t meant to be’. I didn’t know what to say, how to console. Probably realizing that, she looked from me to the floor and explained her existence.

“Despite what the music and art says, the Church doesn’t allow children. Pregnancy is prevented at all costs, but any child that is born is… - dealt with. Papas sleep with many women, any devotee they desire is theirs. My mother was one of them ; yet another faceless whore. Only difference being, she dared to… you know, have me.”

She stood up and started pacing the room, appearing nervous. Did she usually have someone to confide in, I wondered?

“When I was born, he was meant to have done the deed. He was meant to get rid of me, but couldn’t. That’s how weak he truly was - he killed men and women as sacrifices on a daily basis, but a child - his child, he couldn’t hurt.”

I stared at her moving figure open mouthed. I was here for mere hours and already I was going mad. She’s been here her whole life. Has she ever even seen civilization? Spoken to normal, everyday people?

“You mean you… you grew up here?” I looked at her sympathetically. What a miserable existence she must be leading! Was the authority and confidence she showed earlier just a facade, practiced to perfection over the years?

Her demeanor changed suddenly to cold and bitter, though I felt that that wasn’t aimed at me.

“Yeah, the little Princess of Darkness herself.” She snorted, looking at one of the large, detailed paintings decorating her walls. Based on the figure’s appearance, I assumed she was gazing at her father. Her face was turned away from me, so I could only guess what emotions were displayed on her face, let alone running through her mind.

Was it hatred for enslaving her in the cult for life? Or was it thanks for sparing her? When she did turn back to me, her face was an expressionless mask.  
“Where are they now?” I asked, my voice small.

“As I said, my mother was just one of the worshipers. Producing me didn’t put her any higher up the ranks of the clergy. I haven’t been in contact with her since I weaned. Papa pretty much raised me up himself, heh….” she laughed softly, breathlessly, looking away for a moment, smiling softly to herself as she recalled a memory she didn’t deem necessary to mention.

Mumbling something to herself before she turned back to me : “As for my father, he’s where all finished Papas are - in the dungeons, eating, drinking and getting laid. I haven’t seen him since he left post, and I always had very mixed relationships with the Papas that follow.”

I nodded sadly. Though still unsure why I was being told all this, I was glad she did. The More I knew about this place the better.

My train of thought was halted abruptly when Nyx sat herself next to me and took my hands in hers. Desperation found its was back to her young features.

“I need to get free, Tamara. And I want to destroy this place while I’m at it. But I need your help, and you’re currently the only person I trust.” I looked to her in confusion.  
“Why me?” I asked.

“We’re the only people here who’re not brainwashed. I don’t know how but you managed to put up a wall. When they bring in new worshipers, they lure and hypnotize them with promises of riches and pleasure. The girl you saw about to get killed? They twisted her mind so that she was convinced she wanted this.”

I stared wide-eyed at my companion as she told me tales and secrets of the cult, of their barbaric yet supposedly 'pleasurable’ ways. Why they had yet to make me into a submissive marionette, she did not know.

“What about you?” Surely, growing up here they’d long have had stolen her soul?

“As I said, I’m an important figure within the clergy and have been here since the beginnings of the Church. Even the Nameless Ghouls are under me ; no one’d dare to touch me, or my mind.” After a short explanation of who the Ghouls were, she asked me again if I’ll help her. How, she did not say. Nor did I ask.

Was it as basic (though certainly not easy) as killing the leader, Emeritus? Or was there more complexity to it all? Silence befell us as Nyx awaited my answer. And what was I to say? What had I to loose?


End file.
